Boundaries of Life
by ocsummers
Summary: Harry supposed his life could've been worse, considering he had spent the first few years of it in a cupboard. Still he was thankful that his uncle was a workaholic. Otherwise, he could've been less of a man than he was now.NONSLASH
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: HP belongs to JKR, while BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon

Well, I always thought there was too few readable BtVS/Hp crossover, with most of them being creepy (in my eyes). Majority of them being slash or SS pairing, in some cases both. So I wanted to try my hand in this.

This is unlike most of the other crossovers, will not be about; ''_ coming Hogwarts to teach DADA, while teaching Harry how to not be a wimpy, useless, pussy.''(Always hated that genre), but of a Sunnydale raised Harry going to Hogwarts.

Buffy&co will not be playing a large part at first, aside from a few places. Because well, they are

at the same age, still being in primary school. While in Buffy's case; not even in Sunnydale. And Harry will be a busy boy, not having much time to socialize.

On a side note; some of you may think that most of my sentences are too long, well.. You're right. I tried to keep it shorter, but English is my second language, while the main one being Turkish; and our sentences tend to be descriptive. Still I am willing to accept help. (Been wanting to write something decent for a while)

Well that's it...

XXXX

Harry wiped the sweat from his brow, as the last of the boxes was loaded into the moving truck. They were moving out of the country, because of Uncle Vernon's new promotion. The new house, from what he heard of the conversations his relatives had, was a lot bigger than Number 4. He hoped he would get his own room, as the cupboard was getting too small for him to stay. Not to say he expected much, after all, his wants had always been secondary to Dudley's , but one could always hope.

He complied as his uncle beckoned him over, ignoring the irritated expression on his face at the prospect of having to talk with his nephew.

''Boy, we have ignored your freakishness for so long, from now on you're going to behave, this is a huge opportunity for our family, and I won't have you endanger it. Do you hear me?'' Vernon hissed, looking strangely determined. ''Mr. Grunning trusted me with this. If you so much as hurt my success, I will leave you to an orphanage.''

Harry may not have liked his uncle, but it looked like his uncle really wanted to succeed. He briefly wondered if he would really abandon him like that, considering that many people from his work knew they were looking after their nephew. Besides deserting, a kid wouldn't look good in a lot of people's eyes. Still he nodded his consent, despite not knowing what freakishness he was talking about. A memory of suddenly appearing on top of the school roof flickered through his mind but the image was gone faster than a blink of an eye.

Looking pleased with himself, his uncle got in the car, fastening his seat belt. Harry took a deep breath to compose his frayed nerves at the prospect of riding an aeroplane, and then he followed his uncle's lead, seating himself next to Dudley who ignored him as usual. It was going to be a long drive to airport.

XXXX

He let himself fall to the bed that was thankfully clean of all the dust his new room contained, which was previously an attic. He chuckled quietly; at least he had gotten his wish. The attic was gigantic compared to his cupboard, as it was more like a completely new floor. It also helped that it had a lot of windows, which thankfully regulated the hot air out. Otherwise, he feared the California air, which he was starting to hate, would stifle him in his sleep. The only problem was fairly minor considering he had a lot of experience in the cleaning department. The years' worth of grime and dirt covered not only the floor but also walls, spider webs hung overhead like white sheets. Apparently, the previous owner of the house who had lived there twenty year prior hadn't bothered to clean the attic. He knew even twenty years wouldn't result in this kind of a mess. Still he was ever thankful to the old man, as he had left a lot of stuff in It that now belonged to him.

The bed he was now laying was the man's, minus the sheets, which were brand new. In addition, the room was filled with many knick-knacks, ranging from few old family portraits to ancient looking trinkets. He raised an eyebrow in question as he saw an honest-to-god cutlass.

He thanked to god again for the small favors. All those stuff, waiting to be discovered!

He had to stop himself from giggling in giddiness when his eyes landed on the bookcase. It was filled to the brim with with old looking leather bound books. After learning to read last year, he had discovered his love for books. This summer was going to be a lot of fun!

XXXX

Vernon Dursley was an ambitious man, despite what many would think of him. He had climbed his way to the top, fighting tooth and nail, doing everything in his power to succeed. The only time he really feared it wouldn't be enough was when the boy had been left on their doorstep.

He knew what his wife had been through, because of those freaks. That greasy haired freak, which her sister had been friends with, had tormented her through childhood.

Her parents had always favored Lily, feeling proud that their family had been graced with someone with such a special power. Then their wedding was ruined by Lily's freak of a husband and his friends, after they had caused the wedding cake to explode. Petunia had tried cut all her ties with her sister in response. But they still saw each other from time to time, until her parents were killed by some dark tosser, who idiots were utterly terrified to even say his name. That had been the final nail to the coffin as Petunia had been inconsolable for weeks and nearly had a miscarriage. It was no wonder both of them hated magic with every fiber of their being.

The boy was clearly one of them. Floating toys, changing a teacher's hair to blue, even his hair suddenly growing, it all pointed towards one thing. He could get used to all that, after all it was just until the brat went to their school when he was eleven. He had no interest in looking after him after that, as who knew what he would learn at that school. The worst part was not learning magic, but their inability to think things through.

From what Petunia said, her sister was changing teacups to rabbits when she was fifteen, without a thought to who could've seen her, while doing it. Those fuckers had made their wedding cake explode at their face, while laughing uproariously. They were truly without a shred of decency and worst of all was that Dumbledore. The man had left a baby at their doorstep in middle of winter not even bothering to dress the ugly wound on his forehead. He may not like the boy but it was big wonder he had survived through the night, coupled with the inflamed wound. They had had to took him to a doctor to get the split wound treated, still the infection had caused the wound to scar.

After that they would've given up the boy after getting him healed, if it weren't for the death thread in the letter. The man had said the boy's presence in their home would protect them from the followers of that terrorist, saying otherwise their lives were forfeit. He may have sound like friendly at the letter, warning them against those evil magicians, but he knew a threat when he saw one. They had survived through their war, as no one had come knocking for their door to kill them. He supposed they hadn't known of their presence. However, apparently Dumbledore knew where they were, and wasn't above telling them; if they wouldn't look after the boy, those terrorists would find them. They had conceded, as apparently the boy's blood would protect them from malignant magic. Not only from those of terrorists', but also from Dumbledore's, if he thought that the subtly threatening them wouldn't cut it anymore.

So they looked after the boy, fed him clothed him, in payment the boy did the housework. There was no love lost between them; he knew the brat didn't liked them either. It was symbiotic relationship, simple as that. He didn't get into their way, in turn they ignored him. It also helped that the boy was smart, helping Dudley in his homework from time to time.

It had been two months since they had moved in to Sunnydale, California. It was a dream comes true. The city, simply put was perfect, also away from all those freakishness. The old hag Figg may have thought she was subtle, but, oh, he knew the bitch was watching their every move. Constantly asking how Harry was. Alternatively, she was a pedophile. Either of it was possible he supposed. It was good riddance in his eyes.

When they moved into Sunnydale, their life was going better than he had hoped possible. Away from all those freaky wizards. Also, Mr. Grunnings had put a lot of trust in him, with making him Chief Executive of the Drill Factory in Sunnydale. It was one of their most profitable factories, seconded only by their Seattle Branch. He would show his trust wasn't in vain, even if he had to kill every Vampire in region.

He had been frothing at the mouth when he learned what had been happening in his factory from the foreman, who was mightly reluctant to speak out anything. But still he had forced the issue. Apparently, Sunnydale wasn't the freak free, safe heaven it looked it was. Only it's breed was different. Every crook and cranny was filled with unnatural creatures. Preying on his workers, stealing from his factory or simply making a nuisance of themselves.

No, sir, no, but not on his watch! If they thought they could make decent people's life harder with their freakishness then they had another thing coming for them. He would show them, what they got for stealing from him.

Now if only he could find that freak shop he had seen the other day.

XXXX

Harry looked around his room with what could only be called pride. He had finally finished his job, even though it had taken months. The mold and dust that covered floor had been cleaned, its wood freshly varnished, was now covered with embroidered rugs, which had taken days to clean and mend properly. The frayed walls had been repaired, and were painted into a claret red, mixed with whites and silvers. The paint, which had been leftover from all the other works the house had required, had made the attic look even more fresh and livelier.

The bookcases, trunks and wardrobes had been polished and varnished. Their insides had been cleaned and arranged. His belongings, which were meager considering the rest of the stuff in the room, had only taken little space. The rest of space still belonged to the old man Peterson's stuff. He had discovered the man's name after reading through the first few pages of the man's journals.

His aunt had shaken her head disgustedly after he had told her he wanted to keep the man's stuff, not even bothering to take the antique vase he had had no use for, saying she would not use a dead man's stuff. He had rolled his eyes discreetly at that; she just wanted to redecorate the house completely. Not caring what was in the attic. He had put away everything he had deemed useless in crates, which had been painted to match with the room. He was thankful to the carpenter, who had taken the time to teach him how to do all those work, when he was working on the rest of the house.

The books, which he had been a little disappointed to learn that majority of them was in different languages, had been put in the bookcases orderly, along with the journals, and manuscripts he had found in one of the trunks. He would one day learn how to read them, as the few he had read which had been English had been mightily interesting to read. They were filled with descriptions of fantastic beasts, from demons to vampires, how to kill, avoid them, in some cases even their history. There was some stuff, which had frankly disturbed him, talking about rituals and ceremonies. But he had thought them to be foreign religious practices, and tried not to judge no matter how gritty they were.

Most of the paintings had been put away with rest of the vases and old clothes. Aside from a depiction of a cloaked man standing on a cliff side on a stormy night, a staff in his hand, raised high, looking like he was trying to control the winds. Runic looking symbols covering the cliff he was standing on.

The old oak table, which also had been varnished, stood to the side, next to one of the window that saw east front, letting him watch the sunrise.

His flowerpots of blackout lilies stood on the window still letting a sweet tantalizing smell drift in when there was a breeze. He had bought them when they were buying seeds for Aunt Petunia's garden, which he tended to anyway, despite her objections. They reminded him of his mother, as he knew his mother had dark red hair, remembering her from the few blurry dreams he had of his early memories.

He opened the earmarked page of the Latin dictionary, he had bought from his savings he got doing yard work. Figuring that a large portion of the books were in Latin, he took notes in some places, underlining some words. He thanked whoever had good memory and apparent ability with languages in his family. Otherwise, he would've had much more trouble than he did, with learning how to read and speak a whole new language. He let his mind wander as the sounds of birds filled his ears.

His eyebrow twitched in annoyance as thundering steps of his uncle, who had probably just arrived home, thudded on his staircase, followed by the trap door swinging open with a loud bang. He opened his mouth to say something, but his words stuck in his mouth as he took in the view of his uncle carrying dozens of leather bound books, which he put down on his table, making it groan in protest.

Harry closed his mouth with some trouble, his eyes still wide with surprise.

''You see these books boy?'' Uncle Vernon asked, jaw set in a determined line.

Harry could only nod in response, still too shocked to say anything.

''You're going to learn everything in them, memorize every single line, every single technique, then use them.'' he stated ''Hah, those fuckers thinks they could do whatever they like, but not on my watch!'' , last part murmuring to himself.

Harry had to stop himself from gawking, in surprise as he read the name of the first book, A Guide to Harness the Power of Mother Earth.

''Wait, what! But these are-''

''Yes, yes magic books. Like those of your parents'.'' Vernon cut in before Harry could finish his sentence.

''But magic isn-''

''Come now boy, don't play dumb. I've seen you do your freakishness dozens of time.''

Again being cut off, caused Harry to smother an urge to yell out in frustration.

''What are you talking about, Uncle Vernon?'' Harry asked through clenched teeth.

Vernon looked at him in surprise for a moment then smirked.'' You really didn't notice? Hah. And I had taken you as a bright lad.'' Voice laced with amusement.'' Boy you thought that hair grew up by itself, normal people's hair doesn't grow like that overnight, or the floating toys never made you wonder?''

Harry was about to object, but stopped himself, taking on a pensive expression. Memories of unnatural situations he had been through going through his head; talking garden snake, suddenly appearing on the roof, shrinking sweater or the simultaneously healing scratches.

''Are you saying, magic is real.'' Harry half said, half asked. Suddenly books making a lot more sense. Those historical texts, along with few biological ones had been way too much detailed then possible. His face greened at the prospects those rituals, he had read while dissmissing them as unreal religious practises.

''Yes, boy, were you always this thick?'' Uncle Vernon wondered aloud, voice impatient. '' It doesn't matter, you had better learn everything, otherwise you won't be going to that freak school your parents went to.''

''Wait-'' Harry asked, unable to curb his curiosity.

''I don't care, talk with your Aunt. The only thing I bloody care is, for you to learn everything you can, and then stop those bloody parasites from preying on my factory. I won't have them causing trouble.'' He said, turning around to leave the room.

Harry looked bewilderedly at his uncle's retreating back as the man descended down the stairs. When his head too disappeared from the view, he let out a shaky breath.

He briefly wondered if his uncle had meant vampires, but dismissed it. Surely, his uncle wasn't that fanatical about his job, was he?

XXXX

P.S. Always appreciates constructive criticism.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: HP belongs to JKR, while BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon

XXXX

Harry ground the rooster bones together, mixing it with aloe leaves, turning the mixture into a thick paste. With no dregs in it, the cream symbolized warding against malevolent beings, specifically those who're nocturnal.

He had learned that, yes his uncle was really that workaholic. Considering the man had come to him, to ward the factory against vampires, even though he had to accept help from freaky magic, just so he could become more successful.

The stone bowl he had been mashing the paste slipped from his fingers, as his thoughts turned towards his aunt. He growled in annoyance, tightening his hold at it, and then went back to grinding.

His talk with Aunt Petunia had been enlightening. Not just because he learned that, his parents hadn't died in a car crash, which he was still miffed about. But, also because he learned how he came to be with the Dursleys; via being left on their doorstep with a letter, on November. And just because of that, that Dumbledore bloke was on his shit list.

Still the most dominant emotion he felt was annoyance, because he didn't really knew what to feel. He was sad because his parents were murdered because they stood up to that dark wizard, but also angry that they hadn't thought about the consequences, at the mean time endangering his welfare. He was angry because his relatives hadn't told him, who or what he was, but also thankful that they had at least taken him in and not left him on the doorstep to die, like a certain somebody had done. But most of all he was beyond furious because some wacked up dark lord, had killed his parents. Who had apparently managed to take the bastard down with them, as a result causing him to miss the chance to enact revenge.

So it was no surprise that he had thrown himself at his work. Going through the books, like nobody's business. Just so he wouldn't have to think, just so he wouldn't have to feel.

He put down the bowl, taking a cross, made of ash, inscribed with various symbols, which had taken him, a better part of the week to scribe. Then removed some of the paste with a spatula and carefully covering the cross with it.

Gently placing the previously white wooden cross, now covered with greenish gray mixture, into the chalk circle on the ground, he inspected his handiwork. A cross, enclosed in a triangle of blue candles, encircled in a white chalk circle. Absolutely perfect for trial.

The ritual, which was really nothing more than a simple ward raising, was actually a lot more complicated than this. However, he had arranged it as a prototype, to only cover the house, with a little of the garden.

He pricked his finger with a silver knife, than let a few drops of it fall on the cross, and then took the book from the table. Kneeling in front of the makeshift altar, he began to read the incantations, as the candles lightened themselves.

Even before he finished the passage, the feeling of euphoria overpowered him; chasing away his worries about if, it was supposed to happen like that. In his mind's eye, he saw the royal blue lines of magic, entwining with the, strangely enough, already present blood red magical field, and pushing back the few blackened purple threads that had managed to seep through the cracks in the red ward.

As the ritual closed to the end, greenish-grey paste slowly burned away, with a bitter tang in the air, leaving a cross with dark blue inscriptions. However, none of that mattered to him, as he lay on the ground taking huge gulps of air, trying to get his breathing under control. He slowly got up, his pupils dilated to cover almost all of his eyes and let out a drunken giggle.

Now that his business was over, he needed something to pass his boredom, after all sitting in his room for weeks had been enough.

XXXX

Harry groaned as he tried to shield his eyes from the light, only partially succeeding. His mouth felt like a sand paper. He tried to get up but his vision swam, and he landed on his bum, hurting his tailbone in the process.

What the bloody hell had he been doing? He remembered starting the ritual, than completing it. He remembered feeling; extremely happy? Or was it,…

He groaned again as a few memories of the previous day returned to him.

…_He ran from a few bikers with leather jackets and painfully bright colored Mohawks, while giggling maniacally, a green and white striped hat pulled down almost to his eyes obscuring a part of his face. He turned in to an alley, after letting out an evil cackle. Jumping up and somehow managing to grab the metal pipe, he climbed up the pipe. He adjusted a few last minute changes to his plan, all the while trying not to let out a sound, but still a wild grin splitting his face._

''_Where is that brat?''_

''_I am going to skin that piece of shit alive!''_

_Harry again had to smother another cackle, and pulled the cord he had prepared just for this moment._

_Various colored paint, followed close by a few pillows worth of feather filled the alley, smothering the men's screams..._

… _He crept silently through the foyer of a tedious looking house, being extra careful to not let his presence noticed by the twenty-something year old blonde. He quickly tied a few glue-covered strings to the door, joined by plastic spiders, then prepared his master plan for launching. _

_The woman, who he didn't even know her name, continued her talk with the phone, while not noticing she was coming closer to the trap. So just when she was about to close the phone, trap sprung, entangling her body in the process._

_He cackled manically, while she screamed in fright, and then activated second trap._

_Her scream was, cut short as a smothered explosion rang through the house covering everywhere with flour, even flying out of window... _

He groaned one more time, this time because of embarrassment. He wondered what he had done wrong to get this kind of an extreme result. He knew the spell had been successful. Then chuckled weakly, of course it was the magic.

While it would be nothing in the eyes of an established sorcerer, he was nothing but a boy. He had been arrogant to believe just because he could levitate a few books, which was a great accomplishment on itself, he could just throw some major mojo around.

It was one of the reasons, why most magical rituals required sacrifices; be it burning incense or killing a goat. The sacrifices reduced the required energy. Otherwise, the magic you channeled from your very being would feed on your mind, reducing your inhibitions, opening you more for the power. Moreover, he, being an eight-year-old boy, hadn't helped the matters.

He briefly wondered, if he had more stamina, along with the mental fortitude, would he be able to cast the spell with no problems. Still it wouldn't matter, as he was simply incapable of casting a spell of that magnitude without probably spending rest of his life in a mental institute, at his present self.

His musings were, cut short by a voice of a young boy.

''You know if you don't get up your going to get cold.''

Harry opened his eyes again slowly, light thankfully not stinging them this time, to see a black haired boy with a Hawaii shirt a size too big for himself.

''Rough night?'' Again, the question was addressed to him, but when he tried to answer all he managed to let out was a weak affirmative.

''Dude! Are you hang over?''

Instead of answering, Harry inspected his surroundings, which now he realized was a park.

''I don't think so?'' Harry answered unsurely, deciding that waiting anymore would be just rude, also not knowing what hang over really felt like.

''Here, let me help you get up.'' The boy replied, to his hesitant answer.

Harry, managing to get up on shaky legs, gave the boy a weak grin, feeling his stomach churn unpleasantly.

''Xander Harris, by the way.'' Boy introduced himself.

''Harry Potter'' Harry replied, still trying to not spill the contents of his stomach.

''Oh, British. Are you new in town?'' Xander asked, obviously already forgetting the fact that he had seen him passed out on the pavement.

''Yes, we moved in few months ago.'' Harry stated, now satisfied that he had succeeded in not barf all over the place.

''Heh? Haven't seen you around here.'' Xander said, leading him towards a bank.

Harry sat down and leaned his head back, letting out a satisfied groan, ignoring Xander's amused look.

''Haven't really had the chance. You know, had a lot of work to do.'' Harry replied.'' Actually, finally managed to finish it all yesterday.''

Boy grinned still amusedly. ''And decided to celebrate?''

Harry grumbled in response, at the obvious quip on his person. ''Bugger off. I wasn't drunk.''

''Nice hat, by the way.''

Taking it off, Harry looked at the adult-sized green and white striped hat that had been on his head, for the first time noticing that he really had that hat, and he really had gone on a prank spree.

''You know there was a rumor about a green and white colored hat wearing kid causing mayhem throughout the town, setting up pranks in dozens of different places.''

Harry let out a nervous chuckle, stuffing the hat to his pocket.

''I don't know what you're talking about.''

''I am sure you don't.'' Xander replied, now with a massive grin on his face. ''Though I saw the one with the stink bomb, It was awesome, the biggest I've ever seen. Too bad you don't know how its done.''

''I really don't.''Harry said, smirking lightly. ''But, if I did, I would probably say the secret is adding carbonate.''

''You wouldn't mind accompanying me to my house would you?''Harry asked, now the voice serious.'' I don't think I know where exactly I am, also my head is still spinning like it's nobody's business.''

''Fine, fine get up. I won't be carrying your drunk ass around, though.'' Xander replied, teasingly.

Harry rolled his eye in annoyance

''I am not drunk, you twat.''

''You know, I have no idea about what you just said to me, but I feel like I should be offended.'' Xander stated, taking on a mock serious expression. ''But what do you expect from drunk's ramblings, anyway.''

Harry only scowled grouchily, in response.

XXXX


End file.
